


conspiracy to adopt

by notorious



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Other, dolls is mentioned but he ain't around, only teen bc there's a few bad words lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notorious/pseuds/notorious
Summary: the one where wynonna wants a dog, nicole says no, and waverly falls in love.





	conspiracy to adopt

Inspired by [this](https://oliviajoytaylor.tumblr.com/post/183945854092/the-gang-gets-a-pet) post by [oliviajoytaylor](https://oliviajoytaylor.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.

* * *

Wynonna ducks back into the kitchen from her surveillance point at the front door with madness in her eyes and mischief in that damn thousand-watt smile.

"She's gone. I have a plan."

Waverly, at the kitchen table, halfway through a plate of vegan bacon and avocado toast, tears her eyes from the local paper long enough to spot the passion in Wynonna's insistence. Her brows raise and she asks: "A good one?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Christ.

Daily life is a gamble with Wynonna. Daily life is a game to play and a game to maybe win and a game to play and hopefully win again come next sunrise. Put your hands together and pray the odds are in their favor.

Wynonna settles in opposite her baby sister, elbows on the table, hands splayed on its surface, looking about ready to go to war with the fire she carries in those exhilarated eyes. There's a reason for that; this is a passion project.

"All right, baby girl," Wynonna starts in. "Haught Damn's on the clock until sundown. You keep Dolls off my ass until then and we're flying free." 

Yeah, it's not a great plan. Barely a plan at all. Wynonna doesn't know how to do those most days.

"That's — that's. . . it? That's your plan?" Waverly wishes it weren't so hard  not  to laugh because Wynonna would not appreciate laughter right now so she quells it (somehow, strenuously).

They're in cahoots — sort of; they know at least the endgame of the plan and the rewards to reap from it, but they're on entirely different pages — but cahoots might not be enough to get one past ol' Officer Haught. Wynonna's willing to risk it.

"Yep," Wynonna confirms. Such conviction in the pop of that 'p.' "That's the plan. Doc’s coming with. It's fool-proof."

Waverly levels her eyes with Wynonna's, a grave look, a warning look, and yet she's grinning. 

Somewhere by Waverly's feet Calamity Jane sounds off a meow.

"She's going to kill you, I hope you know."

Wynonna pushes up from her seat and slaps her hands on the table. Pick your battles, they say, and you'll win the war. Losing is not an option.

Wynonna lifts her chin, sets her jaw, makes herself look all hard like she didn't spend half the morning whining at Nicole about  _this is my house and I'll bring whatever animals I damn well please into it.  _

"Oh, honey, I'm countin' on it."

...

"Why, pray tell, are we driving forty miles out to pick up a hound when there is a  _perfectly_   good breeder in Purgatory?"

" _Because_ ,"  Wynonna starts, swinging the truck in a tight-as-shit left turn onto a dirt road leading to the epicenter of Bumfuck Egypt. "That's  _Nicole's_   jurisdiction. Can't risk it. Can't risk a thing."

Welcome to uncharted territory, where the Purgatory Sheriff's Department cannot touch a hair on a damn head. Welcome to the wild west (ha, yeah, that's not exactly where they are). Welcome to unincorporated territory, more like it, where the law is weak and the civilians are strong. Welcome to where anything goes.

Doc's got a hand ready at his holster, Wynonna's got hands on the wheel at eleven and four because you can bet all you've got that she never paid a lick of attention in driver's ed, and there is sweet sweet victory in the air.

They're one step closer to heaven.

...

"This is Mouse."

Waverly balks. It's okay to laugh now, so she does, can't help it. It’s the sweetest trill of giggles to ever grace Purgatory.

_"Mouse?!"_

Yeah, Waverly heard her right. Yeah, the damn thing's name is Mouse. And  yes  his head levels about equal with Waverly's shoulders. Mouse is a frickin'  _giant_  if Waverly's ever seen one. She knew Great Danes were big but she didn't know they were this big. Granted, her sister did pick the biggest one on the ranch.

"Mouse," Wynonna echoes with a touch of tenderness. She's got a hand on the dog's head, fingers scratching behind his ears, palm settled on the dome of of his doggy cranium. 

He's a good boy. He sits, he stays, he's damn well trained. 

And his fur is like silk: so soft, so smooth, so deserving of a kind hand's stroke. And  yes  he's already Wynonna's new best friend. The big thing is privy to her smell (that of whiskey and determination) after spending an hour's drive back to Purgatory at her side. 

"I tried to tell her, Waverly, that this here animal is no mouse," Doc drawls. "That right there is a beast. A bonafide behemoth." 

Waverly drops to her knees and takes the Dane’s face in her hands, presses her nose to his snout. He smells like hay and pine, and it’s all over the moment he licks her chin. She’s sold.

“Hello, Mouse,” she mutters, voice lifting a note. “You’re a real big boy. I think I love you.”

Doc’s standing with his hands on his hips, overcoat drawn back, revolvers on display, hat tipped backward a fraction of an inch (just enough to reveal a hairline drawn by gods); the hairpin-trigger stance. Like he’d ever shoot that dog.

Wynonna rolls her eyes. This was a dream come true, no matter the chatter between sister and consort. Now that's a laugh — he ain't no consort, he's just Doc. There is both more and less to that man and Wynonna's relationship than either of them are prepared to discuss. But they'll still run missions together, no questions asked, even if said mission is to run off and adopt a dog from a lady in the middle of nowhere against the explicit instructions of your baby sister’s lady friend and your sort-of best friend. Wynonna's wanted a dog for ages now, eons it feels like, Doc knows, and so he went. 

This animal companion is of extensive importance to Wynonna Earp; thus it becomes of considerable prominence to one John Henry Holliday. As soon as the word dog left Wynonna’s lips he was prepared to ride or die, a loyal compadre.

So here we are. 

...

Nicole's at work. She's almost off, almost through the mountain of paperwork Nedley dropped on her desk some three hours ago. Petty work, that's what it is. Paperwork that'll probably amount to nothing worthwhile but still needs to be done anyway and Nedley trusts no one with itty bitty intricacies like he trusts Nicole. A blessing and a curse.

The sun is about ready to set. Come seven in the evening, that's a given. Nicole's off at eight.

Ain't a soul left in the offices but she and Nedley. She's scribbling away at documents, annotating this or that and whatever needs fixing; he's sipping a coffee, he's flipping through an old case file (murder case, unidentified victim, no known suspects, he's still disappointed) and they're both miles past ready to haul jets.

Twenty minutes later Nedley’s in the doorway with (another) cup of joe (this man is fixing to have a coronary) looking like a weathered serviceman with a heart of gold, what a trope. 

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be, Haught?”

Nicole looks up from her desk, brows knit together, fingertip marking her place on a missing animal report (Mr. Daughtry’s cockatiel, vanished under “suspicious circumstances,” obviously). 

“I thought you wanted me to get through all of these,” she reminds the sheriff.

Nedley waves her off and strolls over to scoop the remaining paperwork into an arm.

“It’s Friday evening, you should be home with your family,” he tells her with a stern look Nicole sees right through. The sheriff’s playing dad again.

Gotta be endlessly grateful for someone who looks out for you when you forget to do it for yourself. Even if it’s only to rescue you from busywork.

“Thanks, Nedley.”

She squeezes his shoulder and she’s out the door.

...

“Okay, now bring the cat.”

Operation Unite the Fight is underway and is mostly underwhelming.

It started with a thought, a lightbulb-worthy one, and Wynonna’s going to see the damn thing through if it’s the last thing she does. The situation is dire. 

Doc’s got a shoulder on the doorjamb and a toothpick between his teeth and he isn’t entirely sure what he’s watching, only that it is a hair past ridiculous.

Mouse stands at attention in all his regality, head held high, still as a statue, awaiting orders.

“Wynonna, this is —“

“I said get the damn cat, Waverly.”

“Okie-dokie, boss. Your funeral.”

Waverly retrieves Calamity Jane and takes her place at Wynonna’s side. Of all the tomfoolery they’ve indulged in this might take the cake. 

“Now,” Wynonna says, takes Waverly by the shoulders, puts her face-to-face with the dog. A sweeping gesture toward the canine, and, “Introduce them.”

A crucial moment. Hope is at stake. Wynonna’s heart is running a mile a minute and it’s the youthful glee of taking a foot race in the final stretch that has her going. This one she has to win. This one she  _will_   win.

As if in slow motion Waverly gingerly approaches the beast, Calamity Jane cradled safe and sound in her arms. They’re all holding their breath. Neither of the animals seem to care.

“Why am I doing this, again?”

“ _Because_ ,”  Wynonna insists, nudging her sister forward. “If they like each other Nicole might go soft. Easy win.” 

Waverly sighs. If they weren’t family, well.

Moment of truth.

Years of hopes and dreams on the line. All comes down to the temperament of animals.

Deep breath.

Hold it.

Okay,  _go _ .

Waverly extends her arms a bit, holds the cat aloft something like Rafiki presenting Simba to the kingdom, and puts the animals nose-to-nose.

Mouse sniffs. Calamity Jane bats at his snout with a paw. He noses at the paw, next her belly, acquainting himself with her scent.

The canine’s gentle with the cat, curious about this new orange ball of fur in his face.

Waverly exhales, grins.

(“Attaboy, Mouse. That’s your new sister.”)

Doc huffs a noncommittal noise.

(“Well, I’ll be.”)

Wynonna throws her hands up in victory and mouths a thank-you to whatever God is listening.

“Oh, glory, hallelujah. Sweet success.”

As soon as the cat’s back on the floor she contents herself with slinking back and forth between the dog’s paws, rubbing up against his legs while he ducks his head to sniff at her back.

This is turning out better than she hoped, and she’d hoped for a lot. This is the cherry on top of the sundae she’s been waiting on since the third grade. 

This is perfect.

...

The homestead looks postcard worthy with lights in the windows and the moon hanging overhead. 

Nicole checks the trunk of the cruiser for the fourth time today. Still no sign of the Stetson.

One foot in the door and she knows something’s off. The air is different, sweeter almost, but unfamiliar enough to put her on guard. Two fingers pop open the button strap on her holster and the hand lingers on the firearm as slow steps carry her to the living room.

She ducks around the corner expecting to find — what? something weird? Probably. There’s always weird shit going on at the homestead.

What she finds is mostly normal:

Wynonna, sprawled out at the foot of the couch, maybe seven open takeout containers on the floor before her, fifth of Southern Comfort in her lap.

Waverly, perched criss-cross on the couch, fingers twisting a second French braid into Wynonna’s hair, Nicole’s Stetson seated snug on her head. Of course.

“Evening, officer,” Wynonna starts in, brows raised at the hand on Nicole’s service weapon. “I see you’re coming in hot. What’s the occasion?”

Nicole’s eyes sweep the room once, twice, before she zeroes in on the Earp sisters. Waverly’s better at hiding a shit-eating grin than Wynonna is (girl is  _not_ subtle) so there’s probably something going on here that Nicole needs to know about.

“Something felt weird when I walked in.” But they’re clearly fine, so she shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“Welcome to Earp country, darlin’.” 

That’s when she notices.

There’s a lack of presence on either side of Waverly, namely a fuzzy orange presence that is known to pin itself to Waverly’s side whenever Nicole’s out of the house.

She takes a step forward, head inclined.

“Where’s my cat?”

Waverly looks down, lets the brim of the Stetson shield her grin from Nicole’s prying eyes.

“About that,” Wynonna starts, biting into an egg roll. “She went and got herself a —“

“Wynonna Earp, you do not want to test me right now,” Nicole warns in the coppiest cop-voice she can muster. It’s cute.

“If you’d let me  _finish_   you’d know your cat is perfectly fine, but I don’t know that she’s yours anymore.”

Cryptic. Unhelpful. To be expected from Wynonna.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? And why are you so quiet all of the sudden, Waves? Am I missing something?”

Oh yeah. Big something. Big furry something with an itty bitty name. 

Nicole shrugs out of her jacket, unclips her utility belt, drops them both onto an armchair.

“Well? Someone start talking.”

“Well...” Waverly draws the word out a good four seconds while tying off Wynonna’s second braid with an elastic. 

“She got a mans,” Wynonna interjects, raising her bottle as if in toast. “Girl’s no one’s anymore. Sorry ‘bout it.”

Nicole’s pacing now. Frantically. With a hand on her forehead and the other at her hip. This is bad. They’ve about driven her to madness, though it’s worth it to say it’s quite a surprise she isn’t there already given she’s been living with these two for some time now. 

Waverly’s up from the couch, returning the Stetson to Nicole’s head, reaching for the officer’s hands, grounding her with a look that says I love you and I’m sorry and I know my sister is a madwoman but you know you love her too. 

“Calamity Jane is  _ fine _ , baby. I promise. You know I’d never let anything happen to that cat,” Waverly assures her.

“Then where is she? I’ve gotta see her.”

Now or never.

From her spot on the floor Wynonna wedges thumb and pointer finger between her lips and whistles something shrill and short and annoyingly loud, a summoning sound.

“Please don’t kill my sister,” Waverly mutters against Nicole’s chest as she nuzzles in, arms wound around the redhead’s middle. 

“What — ?”

That’s when the beast walks in. He really is a big ol’ thing, damn beautiful though. And he’s got a cat on his back, curled up with the tip of her tail beneath her head and looking peaceful as pie. He trots himself over to Wynonna and stands dutifully at her side. She gives him a scratch behind the ears. 

Nicole’s got one arm around Waverly’s shoulders. The other lifts to point an accusing finger at Wynonna. “You — that is a —  _what?_   I told you this morning that I —“

“ _ No _ ,” Wynonna cuts in, wagging a finger right back at Nicole. “This morning you said no dog because it’d eat your cat. Game’s changed. They’re in love.”

Nicole feels more than hears Waverly speaking against her chest; sounds like “it’s true.”

“ _You_ ,”  Nicole jabs her finger at the Earp on the floor. “Outside. Now.”

“Hey, he didn’t do anyth—“

“Not the damn dog.  _You_ , Wynonna. Let’s go.”

Well then I guess we’re goin’, Wynonna thinks. Better take the whiskey with her. 

Outside is crisp and cool and bursts of wind lick at the ends of Nicole’s hair and tickle the back of her neck but the only thing she knows is how firmly planted her feet are on the porch and how if she doesn’t keep her arms crossed Wynonna Earp may get a smack to the shoulder. 

“We are  _not_   keeping that.”

“Hear me out,” Wynonna tells her, unoccupied hand up, palm to Nicole, and she pulls a swig from her bottle. “Calamity Jane  _likes_ him. You can’t split them up now, think of the emotional damage you’d do.”

“Oh my god.”

That’s when Nicole sees the living room scene through the window. 

Waverly’s on the floor, on her belly, feet kicked up, chin in her hands. The dog’s down at her level, comfy on the floor, with Nicole’s beloved little cat resting between his two front paws. Waverly’s talking to the big pup, bumping their noses together, reaching to stroke his soft ears both at once. Most importantly Waverly’s glowing, so entirely in her element.

Wynonna follows Nicole’s gaze and a slow, brilliant, trillion-watt, unbeatable, incredibly victorious, entirely shit-eating grin slides home onto her lips. 

“Yeah,” she tells Nicole. “We’re keeping that.” 


End file.
